Bathtub Bubbles
by CanoeKeyPaceHeGrit
Summary: He's my best friend. Always has been. Just thinking about how he used to change my diapers totally gives me the willies. But whatever. I'll still call him everyday for the wrest of my life. I love him,"like that". But completely terrified. Quil/Claire.


**Funny story about this, this is actually in my writing portfolio for school. (That's why I have to explain everything.) It's short and sweat. I don't expect many reviews! But that's Ok! Because you know, I had this written like last year, I mine as well use it for something. Other than a writing portfolio. If you actually read this and decide you hate it, don't underestimate me. My other story called PaperPlanes is freaken magnifico. (Don't ask where I got the name Bathtub Bubbles. It took me all but two seconds.)**

**Song for Chapter: Calling you by Blue October.**

Claire's POV-

Love…, pretty simple, right? Man sees a woman as if she could put the sun to shame, their hearts are full of an adoration that could conquer all. Nothing could ever go wrong, yadda, yadda, yadda. Well not me. Claire Young could never have something as romantic as that, drastically alter my life. Don't get me wrong, I see people in love all the time, like my Aunt Emily and Uncle Sam, or Kim and Jared. Heck I'm in love at the moment, but that person could never in a bazillion years ever love me as I love him.

Quil, pretty awesome name huh? That's not the only awesome thing about Quil, He's always so warm, I like to call him my own personal space heater. But don't tell him I said that. He's also incredibly strong. I asked him once if he was on steroids. He just shrugged and said, "I always ate my spinach." I was about ten then and completely gullible. Now I'm sixteen and little things like that don't slip past me that easily. I guess you could call me detective Claire. I have snooped and gotten in such messes that I have to lie and hope to goodness that my big green eyes will do the trick, to hide my secrets.

Here's what I know so far. Most of my family is in on this secret. I'm probably the only one that doesn't know. Bummer. If they think I won't notice anything out of the ordinary, they are so wrong. I mean who else uses words like "imprint" or "pack" as their daily vocabulary, when no one is listening? Isn't imprinting what baby ducks do when they first see their mother? Whatever, I have my theories but trust me, they are too ridiculous to share.

Quil has been around since I was two; no he is not a pedophile to all you strange people out there thinking that. He was like a father figure, a brother, a best friend, and now, I love him. Let me tell you about the first time I knew I was in love with Quil, knowing my luck, it wasn't pretty.

**1 month ago**

"Claire I have chocolate chip cookies…. Well, what's left that Seth (Quils' best friend) didn't eat!" Quil belted while opening the front door.

My heart skipped a beat when I looked at what Quil was holding. At this time I didn't think that it could actually be Quil himself.

"Why did the cookie go to the doctor?" I randomly asked.

"Not another joke…. why?" He questioned, trying his hardest to look amused.

"Because he was feeling crummy!" I know lame right, lame really should be my middle name (pun intended.)

Quil trudged in, making small wet mud puddles with each step. I told him to come into the kitchen to dry off from being outside in the rain. I shuffled behind him in my measly 5 ft 1in. frame. Quil is 6ft .

"Just set the cookies down on the counter, I'll go get you a towel." I sighed.

"Sure, sure," Quil mumbled.

When I returned from getting the most enormous towel that we owned Quil was standing in the middle of the kitchen letting little drops of rain spill from him onto the hardwood floor.

"Quil, can I ask why you have clunks of mud in your hair?" I laughed rolling my eyes at his cute puppy dog expression.

Umm… I was…drum... it's a long story, I wouldn't want to make you bored.

Here's the thing, I believe in luck, I mean how else can you explain the success of those you don't like? My cursed fate chooses to kick in at that moment because the next thing you know, I am slipping through one of the puddles Quil artfully made. I fell, completely thinking about the pain I was about to receive. Thankfully the impact of the floor never came, but I was caught by a pair of strong warm arms.

When I looked up into Quils eyes I had a quick flashbacks of all the little times spent throughout my life that me and Quil had held together. There were the many times at the beach when I was still a toddler, my eyes would be beaming with radiance, I would give him the famous Claire pout so he would help me build a sand castle. There was also sad trying times, when I was 12, my parents got divorced, crushing my world of inner happiness. Quil would quietly sit by me brushing away my long silky black hair so I could cry my eyes out and drench his shirt. He is my world I know this sounds cheesy but, he is the key to my happiness. Just face it Claire, you love him.

"Uh, Claire you ok? Should I call Emily or your mom?"

No, but you can sure call on my heart.

I was trying to focus on his long shaggy locks, the world was spinning way too fast, and I couldn't process this new piece of delicate information fast enough. Oh shit, here comes the water works.

"Claire, sweetie what's wrong?"

I didn't say anything, I didn't have to, the vomit that came from my mouth did.

Of course.

**Present tense**

So like I said, that ordeal wasn't pretty. Luckily Quil forgave me, but I got grounded for a month from my mom for the awful mess. I swear, when she walked right into the kitchen if you looked just close enough, you could see the steam boiling up inside her. Being grounded is extremely boring; you start to find things like the small, yappy, fur ball of a dog peeing on your mean neighbor's newspaper, that lays in the driveway all day completely and utterly amusing. Then you start to laugh so hard that you have tears running out of your eyes like an open faucet, after which you stop to realize that everyone is looking at you like you have finally cracked.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

Tonight I get out of this mini version of jail. Man, I am so happy that there is no word to explain the way I am feeling.

"Claire, Quil is here, he says he's ready to go if you are." My mom yells from downstairs.

Oh yeah, did I mention that I live on an Indian reservation called La push? I am part Quileute; it's a type of Native American Indian. Quil is taking me to my first bonfire, it's not just your typical bonfire either, I will get to hear all of the sacred Quileute legends. I rushed downstairs, two steps at a time, gave my mom a quick peck on the cheek, then practically dashed past Quil, not before taking his hand and pulling him out of the house behind me. Quil opened the door to his rusty old white pickup for me and I hopped in. The drive was pretty silent; it was almost as if Quil was contemplating over something, who knows. When we reached first beach (where the bonfire was to be held) Quil idled the truck for a minute before hesitating to say,

"Claire-bear, tonight you are going to hear some pretty strange things but, whatever you hear, don't run away, please?" Quils usual cheery eyes were now very grief stricken.

I laugh in the face of danger. Not.

"Ok, I promise." I said all the sarcasm washed out of my voice.

After getting down to the sandy shore, I took a seat on a log that could be considered ancient. I peered around at all of my family gathered together. The husbands would look at their wives in a way that I could spend hours in front of the mirror trying to create, but never really master.

"Ah-hum." Quils' grandfather old Quil coughed, to tell everyone he was about to begin the story telling.

He started speaking, more like painting detailed images that filled our heads in and out. Old Quil told of the cold ones, also known as vampires, they roamed our land a hundred years ago. They would forge on the humans killing anyone and everyone in their way. His voice changed, almost filled with pride as he told of the protectors, aka, werewolves that would save our people from the raveness cold ones. There was one part that stuck out for me in the stories, it was how different these wolves were, compared to Hollywood's typical werewolf. They didn't need a full moon to change, just a really strong emotion such as, anger or fear.

The old man also spoke of Imprinting; something that happens to the wolves when they see their soul mate for the first time. Wasn't that the word I "overheard" Uncle Sam use? While I was pondering this, I missed how old Quil had stopped his story telling and how people were starting to move from their sleepy positions. Quil nudged my shoulder with his warm hand and told me to follow him.

We walked a short distance down the moon lit beach, before Quil turned to look at me with his chocolaty brown orbs.

"I don't know how to tell you this Claire. So I am just going to some out and say it. Those stories you just heard, they're all true, and not just some made up legend."

"Real funny Quil, you always said that my life and normal should never be used in the same sentence." I exaggerated with an awful sounding laugh.

"No it's true, I promise, the gene, it stayed strong. Claire, I'm a werewolf."

By now I was on the verge of tears, how could the one I love and trust lie to me right in my face?

"You don't believe me but, the reason I was always there was because I imprinted on you. When you were very young, I vowed to protect you with my own life."

"Give me one reason to believe you." I sobbed.

I heard him say, "don't move" before he took off into some near by trees. I will never forget what happened next. What returned after Quil ran off in the trees was a humongous brown wolf, well you could see a few distinctive traits of the wolf but, I would classify it more under the bear species. It slowly crept forward on its' four massive paws so I could glance deep into its' eyes. In my heart, even if I tried desperately not to believe it, I knew it was him. He is the one I shall love the rest of my life.


End file.
